


In Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by.

by Thestarlitrose



Series: Connecting the Stars [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Warlock is an adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/pseuds/Thestarlitrose
Summary: Warlock is looking for a particular book from his childhood, as luck would have it, A. Z.Fell  & Co seem to have it in stock. While it's a book he is looking for, he might just find something else he's been missing too.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: Connecting the Stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547323
Comments: 11
Kudos: 303





	In Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a chaptered oneshot series but I found the tagging didn't suit my needs so I'm editing each one and reposting them as part of a series so I can add more than just fluff to series. 
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](%E2%80%9DAziraphalesrarebooks.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)

It was one of those rare days that the old bookshop was  _ actually _ open. It was an even rarer occurrence these days, as the owner and his husband; the mysterious, Mr. Crowley, had retired to South Downs. Only coming up for a few days each month to open shop. The times were just as strange as they had been before, often closing for a few hours around lunch or in the afternoon for a half-hour here or there. The opening hours seem to depend solely on the whims of the owner.

If patrons somehow made it into the shop, they'd often see the cheerful owner; a kindly middle-aged man with white-blonde curls and twinkling hazel eyes. He was unusually kind, as long as they didn’t try to purchase anything, of course. 

Occasionally, patrons would see his husband. A redheaded man with dark sunglasses and a near-permanent smirk lounged across one of the plush chairs with the warm sunlight shining down on his pale skin as he napped contentedly. 

Other times, the owner would have his large black and red snake loose in the store. Either draped over his shoulders, talking to it as he dusted or put back books that hadn’t; thankfully, been purchased. Or perhaps it would be found somewhere in the stacks, sleeping. Regardless, the snake wasn't good for business and the owner found he enjoyed that quite a bit. 

It was on one of the rare days the shop had opened that an ordinary-looking man walked into the shop, sporting a victorious look on his face; he hadn’t expected to get in after looking at the Yelp reviews. He looked relatively young, perhaps in his early twenties. He had black hair, cut long to hang under his jawline, with grey-blue eyes and a sense of sadness about him, as if he carried the world on his shoulders. 

Warlock was looking for a copy of  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ . It was a book close to his heart and he'd been itching for a specific copy for the better part of ten years. He'd heard A. Z. Fell & Co. had just about anything you could dream of in terms of first editions, if you could get in and convince the owner to sell you anything, that is. 

He was surprised, as he stepped into the shop to find it perfectly pleasant. It was warm and smelled of cinnamon. There were rows and rows of books, knickknacks, and artwork filling the place. Comfortable chairs and tables lined the backside of the building and light shown down from the skylight casting a warm glow onto the stacks below. 

There were several things about this young man that struck the owner and his husband. The first was, that he looked familiar,  _ very familiar _ . As in, he looked exactly like the Antichrist who turned out to not be the antichrist after all. The other was that he seemed very shy, withdrawn, nothing like they remembered him being as a child. The last, was that he looked bewildered and kept glancing back in forth in their direction as if he couldn’t quite place where he knew them from but was too polite to ask. 

Aziraphale walked over to the young man, whose pale hands were currently caressing the spines of his Wilde collection. “Hello dear fellow, may I help you find anything?” he asked, nearly calling him "Master Warlock," as he'd done so many years ago. 

The man's eyes snapped up to meet the owner's, then glanced over to the man still sitting in the corner. 

Crowley had moved to sit up in his chair, posture stiff and slightly nervous. He’d never forgotten the child, he would never admit it to anyone other than his husband, but he truly had loved the little boy and had missed the child when he left him before his eleventh birthday. He would also never admit to visiting the back garden as the child grew up or performing small miracles along the way to make his life just a little less lonely and a bit happier.

The man stared at the owner, eyebrows knitted and eyes narrowed as if something in his head was trying desperately to click into place but it just couldn’t. “Uhm… yes, actually. I’m looking for a first edition copy of a book someone used to read to me as a child. You see, I’m about to start my graduate program on English literature and, well, I just couldn’t seem to get this certain copy out of my head. He read it to me as a child and it seems only right to try and find a copy like his…” he scratched the back of his head, “well, since he’s the reason I love books so much… erm, sorry, do you happen to have  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? _ ” 

Aziraphale smiled warmly as the tips of Warlock's ears began to flush as well as his cheeks. It reminded Aziraphale of the little boy who would demand he stops what he was doing, right that moment, and read to him. By the end of his time working on the estate, he was positive he could have recited the book from memory, and if he was being honest, he had done just that a few times.

Many days had passed since those days, times had changed so much. There was no longer a reason to steal glances at Crowley, hoping he wouldn’t notice the lingering stares, no reason to pretend to be focused on a novel when in truth, his eyes were focused on a demon in disguise. The time at the Dowling estate had meant so much to him, those moments felt almost like he had a family. He never realized how much of an impact one book would make on a child but if Warlock wanted their book, he would certainly get it.

Aziraphale beamed at Warlock with the pride of a father whose son had decided to follow in his footsteps, which in a way, he was. “I do believe I have what you are looking for, my dear boy, one moment while I go pull it off the shelf.” Aziraphale walked into the backroom, and up the stairs to his private residence. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, pulling the book which sat with pride on the shelf of their South Downs residence into his waiting hands. 

Warlock Dowling was having a strange day. The shopkeeper was familiar, and his voice… the tone and timber were right but the accident too posh... but, it made his heart long for a man he was sure had long since passed. He missed Mr. Francis and was likely trying to fill the space when his Nanny and old gardener had left. There was no way it was the same man, but he was just so familiar. He seemed to carry the same warmth, and he had missed it terribly. 

His eyes turned to the other man still sitting uneasily in his chair, “Um, hello, this is a lovely shop you both have!” said Warlock. 

The dark man looked a bit uneasy, “Uhhm, well, it’s not my store exactly it’s my ang- my husband’s shop. But, um… thanks.” He paused, “What did you say your name was again?” there was something in the way he asked him, which made Warlock wonder if he already knew the answer. 

“My name is Warlock Dowling, and you are…?” he said with a strange accent; a mix of American and Scottish, as he glanced questioningly at the red-haired man.

“The name is Anthony Crowley, but most people just call me Crowley.” He said with a raise of his eyebrow over his dark-lenses. 

Warlock heard the shuffling of feet and looked over to Aziraphale who was returning with two books in his hands and nodded, “and this is my husband, Aziraphale. He owns the shop, been in his family for a very long time.”

Warlock nodded, but his attention was completely on Aziraphale and the books in his hands.

“Yes, now I do believe you were looking for one of these,” he handed him a first edition of  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ . The pages were slightly worn, and Warlock swore it was the same copy as the one Mr. Francis had owned. “Ah, but I happened to have one of these in as well and since they are companion books, I wondered if you would like this as well,” he said producing a familiar copy of  _ Through the Looking Glass _ .

Aziraphale preened as he handed the two copies to his young customer. 

“These are beautifully preserved,” said Warlock, as he turned over the first novel in his hands, “this looks exactly like the copy I was read to as a child. I’ve looked for ages and only realized that it must have been one of the first editions. You seem to be the only bookseller in London with this copy that is willing to sell.”

Warlock had said this with such excitement and reverence that for a moment, Aziraphale thought he might break and confess to the boy. Instead, he smiled and said, “It’s very unusual for me to find someone that I believe to be good enough for my books, you see, each one is very special to me and I don’t wish to be parted with them.”

He patted Warlock on the shoulder, the gesture achingly familiar to the young man. The hand firm, but warm. His heart ached and he clutched the book to his chest. 

Softly, Aziraphale said “I do believe, that these belong to you. Now, do take care of them, my dear, I would be very cross if they were to be damaged.”

Warlock looked between the man, Aziraphale and his husband, Crowley. Then nodded, “How much do you want for them? I may only be able to get…”

He was interrupted, “No, my dear boy, these are yours. You do not owe me anything. Just take care of them and read them often.”

Crowley glanced between the two, his glasses hiding his surprise. It seemed Warlock Dowling had charmed Aziraphale just as much as he had himself. Time spent at the Dowling estate seemed so distant, unreal. Things had been so different then, but there had been times Crowley could never forget. There had been times, often just the three of them, when he'd closed his eyes and pretended Warlock was theirs. That the life he so desperately wanted had been granted to him. 

Warlock, was thrilled, if not a bit taken aback. He'd never anticipated the day going like this. He had saved for months to buy this book and he wasn’t even sure he had enough money saved, to begin with. It was miraculous enough that the store open, much less being gifted a book by the man most Yelp reviews called  _ rude, stubborn and greedy.  _ He had been prepared for the bookshop to be, overall an unpleasant experience if the other reviews were anything to go on.

He bit his lip and glanced down to the books clutched against his chest. “Are you sure? This has to be worth quite a bit of money, and…”

Aziraphale cut him off with the wave of his hand, “I know I have a reputation to uphold, but I can tell that these were meant to be yours.” 

He smiled warmly at the man and then turned to Crowley, “I’m feeling a bit peckish, would you mind terribly if we invited young Warlock along?”

Crowley shook his head, grinning at his husband, “Of course not.” He glanced towards Warlock, “How do you feel about crêpes? This one,” he nodded at Aziraphale “absolutely loves them. A bit too much if you ask me, he’d risk his head for a decent crêpe.”

“Crowley!” came the indignant reply from Aziraphale, “You can’t say things like that!”

He snorted, “why not, it’ss true.”

Warlock blinked, the whole experience was surreal. The Yelp reviews had not prepared him for this. 

He nodded, eyes wide, dumbfounded.

He had the strangest feeling. It was like coming home like he had found something he had been looking for in the span of just a few minutes. These two strange men, so alike and yet so different from his dear Nanny and Mr. Francis but yet, so alike and familiar. Their presence was comforting, soothing. 

It had been so long since he had a feeling of home, his family had been generally unsupportive of him. Especially his father, he never was good enough for him. Never  _ normal _ enough to please his politician father or his socialite mother. In the end, his parents had nearly ceased all conversation with him apart from a card on his birthday or Christmas by the time he turned 18. 

The tall man, Crowley? That was his name, put his arm around his shoulder and led him out the door. 

They stopped in front of the building, while Aziraphale locked up. “You’re going to love this place; the savory crêpes are nice but wait to you try one of the desserts! They have one that has a lovely passion fruit crème filling!” he said, turning the key, then placing it in his coat pocket.

Crowley held his hand out for his husband, “Oy, hurry up! I would hate to not get a table,” he winked.

“Oh, I don’t believe that will be a problem on a day like today” the blonde man laughed.

And it wouldn’t be, as a table would just happen to come available for the three men when they arrived.

This would be the first of many lunches.

Across the street, a blonde woman with kind but knowing eyes grinned over the brim of her latte.

She  _ knew _ all the best places in London, from coffee to books. She had run into the boy a few months back simply by accident. When he had mentioned his old Nanny and Gardener, well she just couldn’t help herself in recommending the best bookshop in all of England. Especially when the boy was after a first edition. 

It was her favorite bookstore after all and who knows, if she hadn’t of needed the extra help earlier that day finding a new romance novel to flip through, well, perhaps the bookstore would have closed before Warlock arrived.

One could almost have called it  _ ineffable. _


End file.
